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rainbowfic2015-10-20 03:14 am
crossfortune) wrote in rainbowfic2015-10-20 03:14 am
yes my loyalty's turned
Name: Mischa
Story: the empty throne
Colors: bistre (How do you wish to die, Admiral? At the hands of numbers, or dreams?), elvish green (I know what I must do, it's just that I'm afraid to do it), spark (little fascist panties)
Supplies and Styles:
Word Count: 880
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none, I think, but if I missed any, let me know.
Summary: I have been nothing but loyal. But against paranoia, loyalty means nothing. Emperor Jian attempts to relieve the General of the North of her command: it doesn't go entirely as intended.
Notes: and the plot gets further moving.
Song Yue pauses in front of her elder sister’s command tent and glances down at the missive she holds in her hand. She hasn’t opened it - of course she hasn’t opened it, she isn’t a fool, and it’s raining besides - but she can already tell this would be poor news. Any message sent by ritual magic instead of a messenger was both too urgent and a disaster in the making.
“Eldest Sister,” Yue calls out, pitching her voice so that Chenhua can hear. “A missive comes from the capital.”
“Enter,” Chenhua calls back to her, and Yue pulls the flap of the tent open and ducks through the doorway, closing it behind her. Her sister is bent over maps, planning troop deployments and her next moves: oddly, her second-in-command, Ren Enlai, was absent. “You came at a good time. What do you have for me?”
Yue bows to her sister as she hands her the missive. “Where is-” she begins to ask.
“Taking the reports from the scouts.” Chenhua replies, already knowing what she is about to ask, her voice still even, as she slits open the missive pouch with her knife. Her hands are perfectly steady - a steadiness Yue has always envied, especially when she’s trying to scrawl spells on the battlefield as fast as she can, trying to hold onto her prayer strips. Her hands are still perfectly still as she extracts the pages, lets the pouch fall onto her maps, her plans.
Her curiosity bites at her insides, a fluttering nervous thing, but Yue tells herself to be calm. Her sister will know what to do. And then, as she watches, Chenhua lets the missive fall to her map as well, her eyes darkening.
(the last time Yue had seen her sister’s eyes darken like that had been years ago: years ago, when Chenhua had been only two summers a woman, and she had still been a child, when the messenger in Hou colors had ridden through the gate, her horse lathered-)
The rain falls steadily outside, and there is silence for a long moment.
“Sister?” Yue asks, finally.
“...I am being recalled to the capital, effective immediately.” Chenhua’s voice is impassive: too impassive, and it takes almost too long for Yue to understand her meaning. Chenhua has been the General of the North for years: she has been bastion against the northern tribes and Terribly Unlucky Pan’s bandits. Effective, steady, and cunning, devoting her life in service to her country and to her sovereign.
And the emperor is stripping her of command. Yue cannot believe it, except that she can.
“You’re being stripped of command,” Yue finds herself saying, without thinking. “Why?”
Anyone else would have smiled bitterly, or been sorrowful, or angry, or any number of things: but Chenhua just shakes her head. Her lean, scarred face is calm: her voice, when she speaks, is too calm. Yue almost misses the sister she only sometimes remembers, who spoke with playful, biting sarcasm, who flirted with every pretty thing that crossed her path.
“I have been nothing but loyal.” she says, her fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the map. “But against paranoia, loyalty means nothing.”
Her sister has nothing but her duty. No wife, no husband, no daughters: nothing but duty.
(“Tell me.” Chenhua asks of the messenger girl, who bears bad news: no kind of good news save victory or imperial birth would have her dispatched with such haste, and no messenger tasked with good news would be on the verge of weeping. “Tell me what has occurred.
“Lady Xiaoli...” the girl sobs, and Yue freezes at the name. Li Xiaoli, adopted daughter of the head of the Hou family, is dearest to her eldest sister’s heart. Beautiful and brilliant and sharp as a dagger: they’d been joined at the hip until they’d had some kind of falling out and Chenhua had left the capital to come home. “Lady Xiaoli has gone to the Eldest’s realm.”
Chenhua stands, absolutely still. “How?” she asks.
The girl looks away. “She drowned,” is the quiet whisper. “She worked into the night, and came home from the palace well into dark. You know how she w-was.” Always lost, she doesn’t has to say. Brilliant enough to take first in the examinations at sixteen, but always, always lost. Could not find her way around. “ And she stumbled into the lake.”
Chenhua closes her eyes.)
“What will you do?” Yue asks, quietly, hoping against hope that her sister will not return to the capital: that she won’t simply accept the loss of her command for loyalty’s sake. “Your men will follow you into the deepest valleys.”
Chenhua breathes in, sighs. “What I must, when loyalty is no longer enough.” she says, after a long moment. “Leave me, sister. Send Ren to me: we must plan, now.”
After a moment, her sister plucks the missive pouch, as well as the letter itself, from her map table, and holds them out to her. “Destroy these.” she says. “Bury the ashes.”
Yue smiles, shyly, and bows her head in acknowledgement as she takes the pages. “Understood.” she says, and leaves the tent.
Story: the empty throne
Colors: bistre (How do you wish to die, Admiral? At the hands of numbers, or dreams?), elvish green (I know what I must do, it's just that I'm afraid to do it), spark (little fascist panties)
Supplies and Styles:
Word Count: 880
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none, I think, but if I missed any, let me know.
Summary: I have been nothing but loyal. But against paranoia, loyalty means nothing. Emperor Jian attempts to relieve the General of the North of her command: it doesn't go entirely as intended.
Notes: and the plot gets further moving.
Song Yue pauses in front of her elder sister’s command tent and glances down at the missive she holds in her hand. She hasn’t opened it - of course she hasn’t opened it, she isn’t a fool, and it’s raining besides - but she can already tell this would be poor news. Any message sent by ritual magic instead of a messenger was both too urgent and a disaster in the making.
“Eldest Sister,” Yue calls out, pitching her voice so that Chenhua can hear. “A missive comes from the capital.”
“Enter,” Chenhua calls back to her, and Yue pulls the flap of the tent open and ducks through the doorway, closing it behind her. Her sister is bent over maps, planning troop deployments and her next moves: oddly, her second-in-command, Ren Enlai, was absent. “You came at a good time. What do you have for me?”
Yue bows to her sister as she hands her the missive. “Where is-” she begins to ask.
“Taking the reports from the scouts.” Chenhua replies, already knowing what she is about to ask, her voice still even, as she slits open the missive pouch with her knife. Her hands are perfectly steady - a steadiness Yue has always envied, especially when she’s trying to scrawl spells on the battlefield as fast as she can, trying to hold onto her prayer strips. Her hands are still perfectly still as she extracts the pages, lets the pouch fall onto her maps, her plans.
Her curiosity bites at her insides, a fluttering nervous thing, but Yue tells herself to be calm. Her sister will know what to do. And then, as she watches, Chenhua lets the missive fall to her map as well, her eyes darkening.
(the last time Yue had seen her sister’s eyes darken like that had been years ago: years ago, when Chenhua had been only two summers a woman, and she had still been a child, when the messenger in Hou colors had ridden through the gate, her horse lathered-)
The rain falls steadily outside, and there is silence for a long moment.
“Sister?” Yue asks, finally.
“...I am being recalled to the capital, effective immediately.” Chenhua’s voice is impassive: too impassive, and it takes almost too long for Yue to understand her meaning. Chenhua has been the General of the North for years: she has been bastion against the northern tribes and Terribly Unlucky Pan’s bandits. Effective, steady, and cunning, devoting her life in service to her country and to her sovereign.
And the emperor is stripping her of command. Yue cannot believe it, except that she can.
“You’re being stripped of command,” Yue finds herself saying, without thinking. “Why?”
Anyone else would have smiled bitterly, or been sorrowful, or angry, or any number of things: but Chenhua just shakes her head. Her lean, scarred face is calm: her voice, when she speaks, is too calm. Yue almost misses the sister she only sometimes remembers, who spoke with playful, biting sarcasm, who flirted with every pretty thing that crossed her path.
“I have been nothing but loyal.” she says, her fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the map. “But against paranoia, loyalty means nothing.”
Her sister has nothing but her duty. No wife, no husband, no daughters: nothing but duty.
(“Tell me.” Chenhua asks of the messenger girl, who bears bad news: no kind of good news save victory or imperial birth would have her dispatched with such haste, and no messenger tasked with good news would be on the verge of weeping. “Tell me what has occurred.
“Lady Xiaoli...” the girl sobs, and Yue freezes at the name. Li Xiaoli, adopted daughter of the head of the Hou family, is dearest to her eldest sister’s heart. Beautiful and brilliant and sharp as a dagger: they’d been joined at the hip until they’d had some kind of falling out and Chenhua had left the capital to come home. “Lady Xiaoli has gone to the Eldest’s realm.”
Chenhua stands, absolutely still. “How?” she asks.
The girl looks away. “She drowned,” is the quiet whisper. “She worked into the night, and came home from the palace well into dark. You know how she w-was.” Always lost, she doesn’t has to say. Brilliant enough to take first in the examinations at sixteen, but always, always lost. Could not find her way around. “ And she stumbled into the lake.”
Chenhua closes her eyes.)
“What will you do?” Yue asks, quietly, hoping against hope that her sister will not return to the capital: that she won’t simply accept the loss of her command for loyalty’s sake. “Your men will follow you into the deepest valleys.”
Chenhua breathes in, sighs. “What I must, when loyalty is no longer enough.” she says, after a long moment. “Leave me, sister. Send Ren to me: we must plan, now.”
After a moment, her sister plucks the missive pouch, as well as the letter itself, from her map table, and holds them out to her. “Destroy these.” she says. “Bury the ashes.”
Yue smiles, shyly, and bows her head in acknowledgement as she takes the pages. “Understood.” she says, and leaves the tent.
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I find myself wanting to know hiw it contiunes and what Chenhua plans to do, why she is called back and the fallout between her and Xiaoli.
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Chenhua's own side of the story should be next, hopefully.
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The answer should be revealed relatively soon, when I have time to sit down and write her side of the story.
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I'm glad you liked them.